


Pierced

by indigo_inks



Category: Original Work
Genre: 16th Century CE, M/M, Religious Guilt, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:55:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26549347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indigo_inks/pseuds/indigo_inks
Summary: The painting was beautiful, and Nico neglected his many chores so that he might gaze adoringly upon it.
Relationships: Original Male Character/Original Male Character, Spirit of Saint/Teenage Virgin Novice
Comments: 4
Kudos: 26
Collections: Darkest Night 2020





	Pierced

**Author's Note:**

  * For [reine_des_corbeaux](https://archiveofourown.org/users/reine_des_corbeaux/gifts).



The painting was beautiful, and Nico neglected his many chores so that he might gaze adoringly upon it.

San Sebastiano, martyred for his faith over a thousand years ago, right here in Rome. When they tried to kill him, he did not die. The three arrows which pierced his flesh did not extinguish his life, so blessed by the radiance of the Holy Spirit was he.

It should have been gruesome, thought Nico. And yet, it wasn’t. San Sebastiano wasn’t even tied to the tree; he reclined against it, and the arrows which pierced his perfect, milk-white flesh hardly even caused him to bleed. And oh, that flesh, with its strong limbs and rounded muscles and chiseled belly, the epitome of masculine youth…

Nico was on his knees before the painting. Some might have mistaken it for an attitude of prayer.

He was not praying. This was reverence of a different sort.

Surreptitiously, so that any randomly passing brother monk would not see, Nico reached beneath his novice’s robes and began stroking his own flesh. He was hard and hot as the infernal fires of hell, and it was shameful, but he could not stop himself, could not tear his gaze away from San Sebastiano’s beatific expression, eyes turned upward, lips slack, as if the painter had caught him in the midst of a paroxysm of exquisite, erotic ecstasy…

The arrows, thought Nico, doubling over as the sensations built. San Sebastiano was experiencing the pleasure of penetration. Nico slid the soft, mobile sheath of skin back and forth along his shaft, exposing the pointed tip of his phallus. He was the arrow, he imagined, the arrowhead and the shaft which pierced San Sebastiano’s breast, which made San Sebastiano’s quiver, made his eyes roll back, made him stiffen, made him – no, _made Nico_ , ahhhh, Nico was going to _shoot_ —

_Brother Nico._

Nico froze mid-stroke. He would have sworn he’d heard a voice, and he would have sworn the voice had come, not from behind him, but from in front, directly in front and from above, like the voice were coming from the painting of San Sebastiano himself…!

Still he knelt; still his hand clutched the center of his sinful self; and still he stared up at the painting. He had memorized every brush stroke, every subtlety of hue, every tiny human imperfection of this work of art. But even if he hadn’t done this, he could not have failed to notice San Sebastiano’s eyes. His eyes. They were no longer lifted towards the heavens. They were looking down, down, down…

At Nico.

_Wouldst thou adore me, Brother Nico? Wouldst thou sacrifice, as I have sacrificed? Wouldst thou pledge thyself unto me?_

“Y-yes…” stuttered Nico. For how could he say otherwise?

And then he felt it, like an arrow through his very soul. His back arched, and he threw his head back, choking on his own breath, too shocked even to scream. The arrowhead, and the shaft – once, twice, thrice – pierced him, penetrated him, straight to the core. Nico fell forwards, onto his hands and knees, as the invigorated object of his devotions commenced fucking him.

 _Thou art mine, Brother Nico,_ said San Sebastiano. _Mine. Forever._


End file.
